


Rough and Tough (And Some Fluff)

by MamaCake



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff and Smut, I Blame Tumblr, I'm Bad At Titles, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaCake/pseuds/MamaCake
Summary: Drift is pissed off and he can only figure out one way to get it out of his system. Although, a little bit of talking helps too.





	Rough and Tough (And Some Fluff)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really hoping that this captures more of a canon typical Ratchet and Drift relationship, because sometimes I think I make Drift too adorable and Ratchet too soft 😂 although, typically of me I like to write feelings so if you're only here for the porn (and no one can blame you) don't bother with the end.

"Your stance is off.”

Drift flicked his optics over to Ratchet. He narrowed them slightly, shifted his foot back a little and levelled his sword again at an imaginary opponent. He tried to clear his mind, only thinking of his movements and the weight of his weapon.

He'd come to the sanctuary of the medbay so he didn't have to speak to anyone else, namely Rodimus, and usually he could count on the medic to not be chatty. Obviously when he actually wanted silence, he wasn't going to get it.

The medic cleared the static in his vocaliser and without glancing up from his datapad, he pointed lazily.

“Other one.” 

“Do I tell you how to be a doctor?” 

“No, but if you did you'd probably tell me to put my faith in Primus and pray.” 

Drift was now feeling seriously irritated. First he'd had to endure his cheery and frustrating friend firing questions all morning and now the mech who only ever used a gun was trying to tell him how to wield a sword. He huffed and closed his optics, trying to find some peace inside. As he opened them again and switched stance, Ratchet stifled a laugh. 

“What now?” 

“Nothing. Just if you were practicing your battle face, maybe go for something a little less  _ cute _ .” 

The swordsman couldn't concentrate anymore, irked at the stupid smirk on Ratchet's face and the reason he was here trying in the first place. He sheathed his sword and folded his arms across his chest. 

“Why are you being so irritating?” 

“I'm seeing what it's like to be you for a day.” 

“I came down here to spend time with you, but if you're in a bad mood, forget it.” 

As he turned on his heels and stropped over to the door, Ratchet laughed humourlessly, leaning back in his chair. When it squeaked under the strain, he reminded himself to tighten the backrest; he had no excuse when the room he was in had tools in nearly every drawer.

“You barged through the door and started swinging your sword around, yet you're standing there telling me I'm in a bad mood? You've got issues.”

Drift stopped, fists clenching at his sides. When he was right, he was sure he hated him just a little bit, especially when it came to feelings. He wasn't good at dealing with emotions and the burdens he carried and yet, in his own opinion, the medic was even worse. All he did was gripe and snap if he was even just a little bit provoked. 

“Issues?” He spun and pointed a digit aggressively at himself, “me? That's rich coming from you.” 

Finally Ratchet pulled his gaze away from his work, raising an optic ridge and rubbing at his helm. He wasn't quite expecting such a reaction. He knew Drift well enough by now to know when he was angry or upset because he retreated into himself, but a small bit of banter usually cured that. 

“Okay, I didn't realise I'd pissed you off  _ that _ much.” 

“Why do you have to be so condescending? Telling me what to do?” 

“Primus,” Ratchet muttered to himself, “talk about role reversal. Look Drift, whatever is eating at you, you can tell me. And don't just say it's me, I meant before you came down here to brood.” 

“But it is you.” He snapped. “It's… you frustrate me and you barely have a nice thing to say and yet, you're always on my mind.” 

“I'm not about to apologise for being myself, you knew who I was, yet you still sought me out.” Ratchet furrowed his brow. 

“I know! I know.” 

Some of the anger was spent, and his shoulders slumped. 

He didn't quite understand what he and Ratchet had, most of the time they were either griping at each other or teasing each other yet there was still fluttering in his spark when he was with him. He couldn't bare to be around him sometimes but then he didn't want to be away from him either. He thought back to some of the situations they'd found themselves in whilst on board the Lost Light and beyond, dangerous and terrible yet he knew he wouldn't have changed it even if he could have. He'd vowed from the beginning of their relationship to not let any harm come to Ratchet, and he was going to stick to that even if it meant putting himself in the way of death. 

Maybe the questions of their long term plans from Rodimus had crawled under his plates. He didn't like to question what the future held for them, because the past had already tried to rip them apart and it pained him to think about it. 

Luckily, Ratchet was good at fixing everything and anything.

“I don't expect you to apologise, not first at least, because you never can.” 

The medic was glad to see the usual cheeky grin creep onto Drift's face, but his work wasn't done. Whatever was going on he would get to the bottom of, after he’d adjusted his chair. He stood up from the offending piece of furniture, stretching his arms up and hearing the joints of his shoulders creak under the pressure.

“Remind me why I put up with you.”

“Because even though I'm old and I piss you off, you can't deny that I'm a good lay.” 

“Oh.” Drift's optics sparkled, “I see.” 

“Just try and deny it. Anyway, you should learn how to deal with me pissing you off, rather than just sulk about it.”

He passed the other mech with a small brush across his chestplate, and lust leapt up inside of Drift like a flame. He watched as Ratchet made his way over to his tool drawer, searching for a screwdriver small enough to tighten the back rest of his chair and his grin grew. He took in the strong shoulders and the sturdy legs in front of him and decided exactly how he'd vent his frustration.

As quietly as he could manage, he took off his sheathed weapons, the clinking of them against his hips would give him away, and rested them against the desk. He crept towards the door, checking back over his shoulder that Ratchet was still busy, and locked it. They were alone, and if anyone needed urgent medical attention they could find another medic. 

Ratchet opened a drawer and just as he was about to pick up the screwdriver he needed, there were rough kisses against his neck and a possessive grip on his hips. He froze, laughing inwardly. So this is how he was going to work through his feelings. 

“Drift.” 

“Ssh.”

“In case I manage to irritate you some more? Apparently you like it.” 

Drift crept a hand around the front of his neck, gripping tightly as he pushed Ratchet against the tool drawers, pushing the open one closed with a loud clunk, and growled down his audials. 

“I said ssh.” 

With a wry grin, Ratchet pushed back against Drift, and the pressure on his neck increased. With the other hand, Drift explored the sensitive seams between Ratchet's plates down his sides and round onto his hip, before he was roughly grinding his hand against his closed panel. Ratchet closed his optics with a small groan of arousal and Drift began to kiss and nip at his neck again, and the groan increased as he felt the spike insistently pressed against him. He tried to push back again but Drift shoved him hard against the drawers, giving him no room to wriggle. 

“Do what I say for once,” Drift murmured against him, “open up.” 

Ratchet tried to resist a little, because he knew it drove his lover wild, but then Drift was pulling him over to a workbench, pushing his chest down against it, his face forced down against the cool metal. He grabbed Ratchet's hands behind his back with one of his own and pinned them against it. With a knee he pushed his legs apart and his free hand found the closed array panel again and this time his touch was more insistent and firm, as were his vocals.

“I said, open up.” 

With a small smile, Ratchet did as he was told and waited to be touched. Instead he felt the insistent hand searching his back for sensitive seams and he shuddered with pleasure as it found them. Drift pressed against him again, and Ratchet moaned at the feel of his hard spike against his aft. He tried to grind back but Drift drew back and delivered a swift spank instead. 

The medic groaned and shivered, and there was amusement in Drift's voice when he spoke. 

“Oh Ratchet, I didn't know you liked being punished. And I think you deserve to be punished after irking me.” 

In quick succession, he gave Ratchet another three spanks and the mech grunted with arousal each time.

“So you don't have anything witty to say now?” 

“Only fuck you, but we both know that's not gonna happen.” 

His laugh was caught short as Drift plunged two digits into his wet valve, and Ratchet was sure his legs might give way as he expertly moved his fingers inside of him. Drift released the hands he had pinned down to stroke his spike as he watched Ratchet squirm and writhe, and he felt the ache deep down that begged be to be relieved. He so desperately wanted to frag him until he was limp and sated, but not here, not just yet. 

Ratchet felt his charge building rapidly and he was sure he was going to overload right there, bent over a workbench in the medbay and grinding himself back onto Drift's fingers. There was a fleeting moment when he considered if he would have to quit, there was no way he could ever work here again when suddenly the pleasure stopped as Drift withdrew his hands. 

He moaned in disappointment, his valve begging for more and Drift laughed a little at the way the other mech was still and waiting submissively. 

“Your desk, now.” 

He gave his aft another hard spank when Ratchet didn't move straight away and grinned when the medic stood and turned, a small defiant twinkle in his optics. 

“Make me.” 

Drift closed the small gap between them, cupping his jaw roughly then reaching down with his other hand to slowly tease the entrance of Ratchet's valve. He barely slipped in the tip of his digit a few times before he used his flat hand to rub slowly over the slick entrance. He knew he had him where he wanted him from the way his optics dimmed and he threw his helm back. 

“I won't make you, but I won't make you overload either if you don't do as I say.” 

He let go quickly, striding over to the desk and leaning himself against it. He took his spike into his hand, tipping his helm back and moaning gutturally. It wasn't long before he felt another hand reaching for his spike and he let go, grinning, as Ratchet slowly stroked both hands up and down, imagining the smooth tip and ridges sliding inside him. 

Drift was ablaze with lust and grabbed the medic roughly around the helm, pulling him in close for a hard kiss, glossas entangled together whilst Ratchet continued to pleasure him. When he couldn't stand the thought of not being inside him any longer, Drift pulled away and ungraciously lifted Ratchet up and threw him back down onto his desk, wrenching his legs apart to bare his valve that was glistening with lubricant.

The swords that had been resting against the end fell with a loud clatter and Ratchet's datapad slid off the desk with a crash to the floor. Neither of them cared, their other distractions ceased to exist momentarily whilst lust was coursing through their lines. All that mattered was a basic need to interface, passionately and fiercely. 

With a steady gaze, Drift watched Ratchet's optics flicker offline briefly as he filled him with his spike slowly and fully. The medic arched his back up and Drift grinned, not moving, just enjoying being engulfed by the snug, wet valve.

“Drift.” Ratchet growled as he squirmed.

The white mech clutched his hips, but still didn't make an effort to move his own. He enjoyed this, watching Ratchet gazing up at him and begging with his optics for what he wanted. But it wasn't enough, he wanted to hear him plead. He gripped his hands harder, trying to stop him moving, and his lover threw his helm back in anguish. 

“You're a sadistic fragger, no wonder you were a Con.” 

“You're right, I love hearing an Autobot beg for mercy, so come on Ratchet,  _ beg _ .” 

The medic laughed and shook his helm unconvincingly. Drift found his sensitive anterior node and gave it a swift rub, earning a tight clench around his spike and a low murmur from Ratchet.

“Fine! Please!” 

“Please what?” 

He started to pull out his spike teasingly, still stroking his node and Ratchet was ex-venting hard. 

“Fragging 'face me!” 

Sastified, Drift wasted no time in pounding himself into Ratchet hard, who lost control and groaned loudly. With a small snicker, Drift covered his mouth but didn't let up the relentless pace of his hips. Ratchet was wildly writhing and moaning against the hand pressed against his mouth, clutching the edge of his desk as it rocked under their weight. Drift knew it wouldn't be long until Ratchet overloaded and even as he felt the grip on his spike tighten, he didn't let up, he continued at a rapid pace not giving Ratchet a moment to recover. 

He was an incoherent mess of grunts now and so Drift dragged his hand down to around his neck again, squeezing just slightly. Ratchet's optics flicked open briefly before they closed again, his face plastered with bliss. Drift grinned, feeling his charge racing to build, but he was determined to leave Ratchet unable to sass him for the rest of the day. He reached down for the other mech's spike and gripped hard and stroked fast. Ratchet bucked up with his hips, a continuous groan as he hurtled towards another overload. 

As his transfluid splashed over his midsection and he clenched, Drift found his own overload crashing over him heavily and he moaned lowly, closing his optics against the wave of pleasure. 

When he felt slightly recovered and definitely appeased, he let go of the tight grip on his lover and ex-vented then noticed he wasn't moving. With a grin, he touched Ratchet's face slightly and the medic let out a murmur. 

“No more. I'm done. Don't make me ask nicely.” 

Drift withdrew himself and watched as the other medic rolled onto his side with a shaky ex-vent, waving an arm at him half heartedly.

“Leave me here. I'm good for nothing.”

“I already knew that.” 

“I'll remember you said that when I'm not fucked. Literally.” 

With a laugh, Drift patted his shoulder and helped ease him up off of the desk. Still shaky, the medic looked down at his now tainted furniture and shook his helm. 

“You know I hate it when anyone puts their feet on my desk, and now you just 'faced me on it.”

“I know. I'm purposely irritating.”

“You're lucky you're a good lay.” He muttered in return. 

“Yep, and now it's time for your nap, you creaky, old mech.” 

Ratchet threw himself down into his chair with an ex-vent, narrowing his optics as it gave out a squeak. Drift merely grinned in response, closing his array panel until he could go use the washrack.

“I was going to fix that. Then you happened.” 

“Sorry, if you want, it can not ever happen again.” 

The tone of Drift's vocals was suddenly clipped. Ratchet lifted his helm up from where he was resting it in his hand and quirked an optic ridge at where his love was looking agitated all over again, stood shifting his feet on the spot and unable to make optic contact.

“Drift, I can't do round two, so maybe just tell me what's going on.”

“We…” he ex-vented angrily, “what are we? Because we're not like Chromedome and Rewind, or Tailgate and Cyclonus-” 

“Or Whirl and himself.” 

He ignored the remark, “are we just going to do this forever? Whatever this is?” 

“Aren't you happy?” 

Ratchet was taken aback. He wasn't expecting this, maybe some comments about what a lousy partner he could be or definitely their usual argument about how much he worked, but not a question about their entire relationship. He was desperate to make this work, and his spark thrummed nervously as he waited for Drift to answer. The other mech still had his gaze fixed to the ground and a slightly furrowed brow. 

“Drift?” 

“I am. That's the problem, I am happy and I don't want things to change.” 

Relief washed over Ratchet inwardly, but all that changed on the outside was a softening of his optics and his shoulders relaxing. At the movement his chair squealed again.

“Okay, so we don't change things.” 

“Really? So, you don't want to spark bond or make an oath to each other?” 

“I'm not sparkmate material, but you already knew that. I'm happy, why should we change things? If I get to tell you to shut up and wipe that stupid grin off your face for all of eternity, that's fine by me.” 

Feeling better, Drift gave him a tight smile and met his gaze. His beloved looked tired, not just from their interfacing but from the stresses and strains of his life. It hadn't been easy for him to go from CMO and soldier to a companion and it seemed to have aged him as he'd slowed down. There was that prickle at his spark again when he looked at him, and he knew he had to fight it off somehow. 

“So I get to irritate you forever? I get to call you grumpy and bad tempered and tell you to take a nap because you're old?” 

Ratchet rolled his optics but stifled a drowsy ex-vent at the same time. This was the Drift that came out when it was just the two of them, the one with the mischievous twinkle in his optics but a soft smile that hinted at affection, and it was always ruined by something to irk him. 

“Sure. Whatever makes you happy.” 

He knew his optics were dimming, and he glanced down to where his datapad was on the floor. He couldn't bare to think of anything other than just taking a short break right now. Drift caught where he was looking and picked it up, tucking it under his arm so he wouldn't be tempted.

“I told you, nap time. Do you want me to tuck you in?” 

“Shut up and wipe that stupid grin off your face.” 

He leant back on his chair but he was too tired to be bothered by the squeak it made. He folded his arms over his chest and closed his optics, resting his helm against his shoulder. He onlined his optics briefly, but Drift had already retreated. With a small smile to himself, he lapsed into recharge. 

When Drift was sure he was resting, he crept back towards the desk to grab his swords and throw the blanket he had over his shoulder onto Ratchet. He put the datapad down onto his desk, and opened the top drawer of his desk to make sure he was still topped up with energon goodies. As he turned to leave him in peace, he stopped and so very carefully brushed a kiss against his helm, thankful that nothing was going to change between them.


End file.
